


Spiderwebs

by orphan_account



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Monsterfucking, x Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You wake, tied up in a cold, dank cellar, your last memories of the Children of the Spider raiding your camp; but the Torment has his eyes on you, and not for informational purposes.
Relationships: The Torment x AFAB!Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Spiderwebs

**Author's Note:**

> i am orphaning this for a reason. i am so sorry.

There is a throbbing at the base of your skull when you wake, the insistent pounding pushing you from unconsciousness enough for you to take into account the ropes binding you, the blindfold over your eyes.

Those are quicker to wake you up and snap you awake, enough to make you tug on the restraints.

Your heart is pounding.  _ What the hell happened?  _ you think, but the memories are coming back already - the Children of the Spider. The raid, the explosion that had you flying into the air, slamming back down with enough force to knock you senseless The spider bite did the rest.

Now, considering you’d been body slammed into the ground… however long ago, you don’t feel  _ awful _ . Headachy? Sure. Scared?  _ Definitely _ , but you reckon you stand a chance of escaping.

You shut your eyes, force yourself to take a breath. Not that the eye-shutting helps much - you can’t exactly see anything, after all - but you’re grounded enough, sort of, to twist your wrists, try to feel for the knot in the rope.

It’s tight; you can barely move your hands, and your skin chafes slightly. Still, as you struggle to get a grip and attempt to untie yourself, you take into account as much of your surroundings as you can, blindfolded or not.

The smell is musty, unpleasant, and you get the feeling that you’re underground. Alone, too, judging by the silence, and secured firmly to a sturdy wooden chair. It’s cold down here, too.

You frown, shifting slightly. Something rather large seems to have slipped your mind; you’re  _ naked _ , for whatever godforsaken reason. No wonder it’s so bloody cold.

You shiver and shift again, and your stomach flips when you hear a noise behind you.

Are you not alone after all? Fear freezes your body.

“Hello?” you try, and are met with a low chuckle; more like a snarl, with wicked humour lacing every last sound of it.

“Oh,” the voice croons, “you’re awake. How lovely.” Something touches the back of your neck, and you suck in a tight breath.

You know that voice. The Torment.

He moves in front of you, and now you’re starting to wonder if it’s just you both in the room, because you could have sworn that there was more than one pair of legs. It sounded like he was… scuttling, almost.

But why would he waste the energy by being a giant spider now, of all times?

You realise that you’re holding your breath, and it comes out as a gasp as the blindfold is ripped away. The sight of red eight, leering eyes makes you flinch, and you stiffen.

“What do you  _ want _ ?” you demand - or try to. The shake in your voice makes it come out weak and pitiful.

The Torment chitters, his voice grating. “What do you think I want? You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” A leg reaches up, touches your cheek; instinctually you move to bite it, and find yourself gagging as it shoots down your throat, working its way up and down.

You strain at the ropes, eyes bulging as you stare at the Torment in wide-eyed fear, and are left gasping, choking for air when he finally draws back out of you. “Now, now. Let’s behave, shall we?”

“Fuck off,” you spit, and this time two legs raise. You’re so firmly bound that you can only move your head, only jerk as you receive a painful slap across the face.

“Language, my dear.”

“What do you  _ want _ ?” you cry again, but it’s already occurred to you. You just don’t want to accept it - or, more specifically, accept that you’re warming to the idea far more easily than you’d like to admit. Your body doesn’t seem to get the memo, though, and you clench your thighs together as if that can stop the sudden throb down there.

The Torment chitters, a leg resting on your thigh, trailing down, and you swallow. “I want you. Why else would you be here?”

“Do you generally kidnap people from war camps to fuck them?” Now, the breathlessness in your voice isn’t just from fear - but what is is the good, anticipatory fear. The one that has you on edge and clenching your pussy, swallowing down a desperate whimper.

“That’s what you think is going to happen?” There’s a pincer of sorts on the edge of the Torment’s leg, and the sharp edge slices through the ropes. Slowly, he nudges your legs apart.

“Aren’t you?” The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, and you’re suddenly pushed even further back into your chair by more legs. So many legs.

Oh,  _ God. _

“So presumptuous,” he whispers, and you yelp as your skin splits beneath his touch, warmth blooming faster than before between your legs. The throbbing there is almost unbearable, now, and you bite back a moan.

The Torment laughs, and this time, when his legs slip inside your mouth, you don’t complain, sucking eagerly between gags, almost grateful for the muffling of your noises as he slips inside your other holes, too.

When he cuts the rest of your restaurants away and throws you to the floor, you don’t complain, desperately wriggling as he pins you down and explores you, as the taste of your own juices fill your mouth and you suck on them eagerly, staring into his eyes and only able to imagine how you must look right now.

Your breath hitches, and you jerk suddenly, mumbling as best as you can a desperate, “I’m going to cum.”

“No,” he disagrees, and you yelp through the makeshift gag as he spanks you, hard. “You’re not.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he hits you again, every part of you shaking, and you gag on his legs as they pump down your throat, switching out every so often. Every single part of you feels full. Every part of you feels electric, and you realise there are tears on your face.

You begin begging. You can’t help it, desperately grinding yourself against the leg lazily rubbing your clit as if the extra stimulation is going to help change his mind. Your words are muffled, indecipherable even to you, but every time you manage to force out a, “ _ Please,”  _ another strike is delivered.

The backs of your thighs, your asscheeks, your pussy aches before long, and you can’t help it after a while, clenching your eyes shut and gagging again as the orgasm makes you cry out.

The Torment draws out of you, and you barely have a moment to draw air, to register the trembling of your body or the overwhelming rush of your climax before you’re thrown against the wall, left blinking up at the giant spider.

He smiles, and the low grate of his voice is almost enough to make you cum again. “Oh,” he says, “you’re going to need some training.”

You can’t tell if your next noise is a whimper or a moan.


End file.
